


F*cking Fairies

by darkforetold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Consent Issues, Dirty Talk, Enthusiastic Consent, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-20 10:02:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1506452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold/pseuds/darkforetold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester isn't afraid of anything—except for fairies. When he comes in contact with something of theirs, things go horribly wrong in the <i>right</i> kind of way. The affliction? Dean needs sex. Lots of it. Cas comes to the rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Initial Contact

"And there was nothing else? No flickering lights? No—"

"No. Listen, man. S'just like I told you.” There was a dramatic pause. “It was _aliens_."

"Aliens," Sam echoed.

"Yeah, _aliens_. Big black eyes. He had uh—a huge bobble head. Green skin.” The voice dropped to a whisper. “Y’know. _Aliens_."

Sam snorted. The questioning continued behind him. _Did the room change temperature? Get really cold or anything?_ Sam asked, searching for any answer other than _aliens_. 

Dean shuddered and drowned out the conversation, scanning the shop’s shelves. From bottles with tiny skulls in them to dream catchers and voodoo dolls, _Eclectic Odds & Ends_ was a real black hole of weird. Religious iconography took up one corner. In the other, an altar to Zeus. Black magic, white magic, hex bags, books of spells from satanic to Wiccan—all of it was mishmashed together on shelves and bookcases as if it were any old shop selling a normal variety of goods. 

The John Lennon wanna-be shop owner said _aliens_ for the tenth time in a voice that was all conspiracy and _far out_. Dean rolled his eyes and squeezed in between the tight aisles. More knickknacks lined the shelves. Mouse skulls, hex bags, a bottle—Dean stopped and narrowed his eyes. The tiny bottle stood out like a vampire at a vegan restaurant. It was delicate instead of ominous. Benign with pastel blues, purples, and greens swirling in its glass. Gold lined its edges, hand-painted flowers circled its tear-drop body. It was the type of thing that _had_ to be touched in order to be fully appreciated. So fragile and pretty, he dared himself to break it.

Dean looked over his shoulder, licked his lips… then plucked it from the shelf. He eased out a shaky breath and rolled it over in his hands. His heart thumped wildly. He popped the top—

"Agent Banner?"

—and jerked in surprise. A cloud of gold glitter got him right in the face. He sucked in a breath and sputtered, fumbling to put the bottle away. After he did, he turned. Sam was staring at him like a moose stuck in a freaky voodoo/witchcraft/devil-worshipping antique shop. Large, out of place, and afraid of tiny aisles.

Dean gave the bottle one last look before shuffling out. "Yeah, what?"

"So, get this..."

"Yeah, I know. It was _aliens_ ,” Dean said. He looked around nervously. “Let's get out of here."

"Wait, what?"

"You heard me," Dean said. "Look, dude, last time I ran into aliens, it was a bunch of fucking fairies. No way I'm doing that shit again. Besides—" Dean stole a look at the shop owner. The dude was wavering on his feet, eyes closed. Completely spaced out. "He's baked. Like, Dark Side of the Moon kinda fucked up. It probably wasn't even aliens or—you know." He leaned in to whisper. "— _fairies_. Just a bad acid trip. Let's go."

Dean slipped past him and headed for the door. Sasquatch followed behind him.

“Didn’t take you for being afraid of fairies—“

“Shh!” Dean stopped and took a hasty look around. No sign of any fairies. He blew out a breath of relief and turned to face his brother. “Let’s get one thing straight here. I’m not… _afraid_ of them, okay? Just _wary_. Is that all right with you? Can I be wary of something for a change?”

“Dean—“ Sam’s mouth was open in horror. Dean locked up like a dying engine. “There’s… _a fairy_ … right behind you.” 

Dean went pale. He couldn’t breathe. When Sam cracked a smile and nearly busted out laughing, Dean punched him in the arm. “That’s not funny, _Sam_.”

“Oh, it’s hilarious. You should’ve seen your face—”

“Shut up.”

He stalked out of the shop. As soon as the sun hit his face, he felt... really fucking weird. His body buzzed with excitable energy. It was like… a million tiny bees were fluttering under his skin. His heart started pounding really hard and his breath drew up short. Maybe all those years of greasy fast food had caught up to him. Instead of being torn to shreds by a werewolf, he’d die of a heart attack like a normal person. What a fucking way to go. 

Dean shouldered it as much as he could. The wobbly legs, the lightheadedness, the… random heat that had begun in his balls. When he got to the Impala, his dick decided to riot. Get harder than it'd ever been. Right then, he knew it wasn’t a heart attack, but a— _fuck_. He put a hand on the Impala's trunk to steady himself. Whatever it was, it almost took him to the ground. He took a deep breath. Not a heart attack, no. Just the feeling that someone had worked him up to an orgasm and left him just as he was about to blow. It was both painful and fucking exhilarating. Any movement at all would probably make him lose it right here in the street. 

He took another breath and closed his eyes. Big feet stomped up behind him. 

"Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah, Sam. I'm fine. Just—" Dean exhaled. Steady, easy. No sudden movements. "Why don't you drive?"

"Whoa, okay. You’re definitely _not_ fine.”

“Dude, just take the fucking keys.” He tossed them and crept over to the passenger side door, opened it, got in, and eased himself into the seat. Whatever he was feeling, it was _intense_.

It got worse.

Ten minutes later, they were driving on the rural roads, miles away from _Eclectic Odds & Ends_. He couldn’t sit still. Could barely stand the constant rubbing of the seat belt slung low across his hips. If it was just him, if his brother wasn’t _right there_ , he’d jerk off. It was _that_ bad. In fact, it took all of his willpower not to do it anyway, as weird as that sounded. He grit his teeth and concentrated on something else—for two whole minutes. After two more, he’d had enough.

"Pull over."

Sam flashed him a look. "What?"

"I said pull over."

"Why? We're in the middle of nowhere."

"Yeah, no shit,” Dean said. “Gotta take a piss."

Sam frowned and opened his mouth. 

"Dude, would you just pull-the-fuck over?"

“ _Okay_. Chill out.”

As soon as Sam pulled off to the side of the road, he unfastened his seat belt and jumped out. 

“Last time I’m letting you drive,” Dean grumbled.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Just hurry up.”

Dean slammed the car door and scampered off into the woods. For a second, he thought about grabbing himself, squeeze out a quick one with no one the wiser. He whipped out his phone instead, punched a few keys—no cell phone service. “Goddamnit.”

Panic made his heart jump.

_Get ahold of yourself. Think._

He eased out another breath, closed his eyes—and nearly fell over with the solution to all his fucked up problems. The very thought of him made his dick ache in his slacks.

"Come on. Come on. Please work," Dean whispered. He wet his lips and took another breath. "Hey, Cas? You listening?” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “Look, buddy. I need you.”

Dean opened one eye. No Cas.

Shit.

“ _Need you_ , need you. You get what I’m saying?”

Nothing.

“Cas, I need you to fuck me as hard as you—“

The sound of wings. His salvation.

"Hello, Dean."

He kept his eyes closed. If he didn’t, he’d throw himself on the ground, begging to be fucked, before he had a chance to say his peace. He clenched his jaw. “So, what? You only come around for sex these days?”

“I was busy.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” he hissed. “I call, you come. That’s the deal.”

He sounded ragged, more desperate than he intended. Cas must have taken notice because he’d come closer. Heat radiated off Cas’ body, blasting him with this… _need_ to tear off both their clothes and get as close to him as he could. He’d smother himself in his soft skin. He’d—

“What’s wrong, Dean?”

That voice, deep and gravel-rough, made his dick jerk, and those blue eyes— _God_. He nearly buckled at the sight of them, at the sight of _him_. Cas looked beautiful in the sunlight, head tilted a little to the side as if he were deciphering all his broken parts. So close, inches away, just there for the taking. 

He couldn’t stand it anymore. He stopped resisting.

Dean grabbed him by the neck and pulled him in, kissed him like he'd die if he didn't. Cas grunted under the urgency, then completely relaxed, kissing him the way he needed to be kissed: heavy, passionate, and _now_. Dean drilled his hips into him, rubbing his hard dick against his body. Good thing about Cas—he didn't ask questions when shit needed to get done. Just went along with it and did whatever he told him to. He was thankful for it now, because the way he was acting—

He pulled at him like Cas was a life raft and he was drowning at sea. Their hands fumbled for each other, grasping for soft skin and firm muscle wherever they could. Breaking their kiss was like a gunshot to the chest. Being without him, his body heat burning him alive, was torture. 

Dean spun away from him and plastered himself against a tree. He unbuckled his belt, dropping his slacks and underwear. Fresh woodland air lit his skin on fire. With his naked ass up for grabs, Dean sucked in a breath and waited. Nothing happened. Cas didn't take him. Didn't ram him until he was satisfied and broken. When Dean looked behind him, Cas was simply staring. Standing there. _Not fucking him_.

"Come on, Cas. Fuck me raw."

Cas narrowed his eyes. Probably confused because he never gave it up and when he did, it was for very rare, special occasions. Like when he fucked up really, really bad. Like Mark of Cain bad.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing, Cas. Just… fuck me, goddamnit."

Cas didn’t take the bait. Dean growled, shot low—

"What's the problem? Can't get it up?"

—and got a reaction he just about expected. Cas narrowed his eyes to dangerous slits. It was the only warning he had before he was shoved against the tree. Bark scraped his face, but he didn’t care because Cas was close to him, his cock hard against his ass. Dean rolled his spine, rubbing himself on Cas like an animal in heat. To sweeten the deal, Dean let out a little moan. He couldn’t help it. If he didn’t get Cas inside him _right now_ —

Cas shoved in without so much as a blink of hesitation. No pain, no stretching—which was all kinds of _wrong_. Because he never let Cas fuck his ass, because he never used dildos back there, he should've been tighter than an oil drum. Cas should’ve had to prep him for a while, work him open nice and easy. He shouldn’t have been so loose for him or slick as if he'd used a half a bottle of lube. He should’ve cared about the _why_ ’s and _why not_ ’s.

He didn’t give a fuck.

Cas let his hands roam under his dress shirt. Long fingers slid over his chest, tweaked his nipple—Dean jerked his ass back, making Cas’ cock plunge in deeper. Dean kicked his head back and cried out. While Cas wanted to touch him, kiss his neck, _love him_ , Dean wanted to be fucked as hard and rough as he could get it. He grew impatient when Cas didn’t thrust, as Cas teethed his ear and stroked him slow and sweet like they were making love. 

Dean didn’t want sweet. He wanted a righteous fucking. 

“Cas,” he hissed. “I told you to fuck me.”

His touch turned to ice. Instead of soft and gentle, Cas’ fingers pinched. Dean gasped out a breath when Cas gripped his hips tight and slammed into him. Stars exploded in front of his eyes; his groan so loud, so dirty, even he was ashamed of it. When Cas established a rhythm, steady and hard, Dean made filthy little noises with every thrust. He sounded like one of those guys on a porno set, the one that wouldn’t _shut the fuck up_ with all the moaning and groaning he was doing. Every sound just urged Cas on. Every brutal thrust piled on the pressure, threatened to shatter his bones. Dean held on, his face grinding against tree bark. It hurt. He didn’t care. He needed Cas just like this: inside him, completing him. Filling him up. Nothing else mattered. Cas was the only reason he had left for living. He was the very air he breathed. 

Cas was his _everything_.

—and none of this felt right.

Cas was the only reason he had left for living? The very air he breathed? What the fuck? Dean shook the cloud from his head. Something was affecting him, making him… emotional. As quickly as they’d sprung up, his doubts trickled away, lost as Cas drilled his ass. Cas gave him a few more hard thrusts before he slowed it down, making love to him again in a way he didn’t want. Dean used the tree as leverage and threw his hips back, wanting it hard and rough again. Cas wouldn’t have it. With his ridiculous strength, Cas held him close to his chest. He couldn’t move or set the pace to save his life. Instead of fighting, Dean gave up and Cas made love to him. Slowly. Stroking his hard cock, rocking his hips into him, soft and gentle. It felt… good. Better, even. Maybe this was what he needed all along. Maybe all he needed was just Cas. Rough or gentle, it didn’t matter.

Cas kissed his neck, then leaned his head against his. His hard panting bled through his shirt, every puff heating his skin. Dean moaned, arched his neck back and turned just enough so they could kiss. Their lips met for short bursts at a time, kissing in between heavy breaths. The closer they got, the harder Cas pounded into him. Every thrust, every jerk of Cas’ hips—Dean called out his name over and over again. Choking on his orgasm as it slammed into him so suddenly, so hard and powerful, that he almost blacked out. It left him weak and breathless, bones liquid like a shallow stream over rocks. 

The brutal urge to fuck faded away. He sighed, leaning against the tree, satisfied and broken.

Behind him, Cas slid a hand up and down his spine in a way that was soothing. Loving. Cas didn’t leave him or say anything until Dean caught his breath, until he finally turned around to face him. Cas smiled. He was happy.

"I should say hello to Sam."

His brain short-circuited. Dean yanked up his pants and grabbed Cas’ arm before he could start toward the car. "No!” That got Cas’ attention. Cas turned slowly and narrowed his eyes. Dean flashed him a smile. “I mean—uhh. I’ll let him know you said hi.”

Cas clenched his jaw. “Sam still doesn’t know about us, does he?”

“No,” Dean admitted. “Look, I was going to tell him, I swear. Just never seems like the right time.”

“When do you intend to tell him?”

“What difference does it make, Cas?” Dean snapped. “Who gives a shit what he thinks.”

“ _You do_ —and so do I,” Cas said sternly. He sighed and looked down. “I would like to get… his blessing.”

“His blessing?” Dean rolled his eyes. “What is this? Medieval England?”

“No, _Dean_. It’s modern-day America.”

Cas disappeared with an angry whoosh of angel wings. Dean sighed. 

When he finally reached the car and got in, Sam was staring at him. Jaw clenched. Looking real ticked. "Had to take a piss, huh?"

"Yeah,” Dean snapped. “Surprise number two, if you _have_ to know."

Sam snorted out a laugh, but he wasn’t amused. "You always call out Cas' name when you take a shit?"

Dean choked and sputtered. “What?”

“Like I couldn’t hear you guys.” Sam rolled his eyes and flipped the ignition. They drove off. The silence was awkward.

 _Say something_.

“Uh, Cas wants your blessing,” Dean blurted out. _Smooth_.

“He could’ve asked five years ago,” Sam said evenly. “You know, when you two first got together.”

His brother flashed him a shit-eating grin. He’d known all along. Of course he did. Dean scoffed and looked out the window. Sam didn’t wipe off his stupid grin for a good fifteen minutes.

An hour into the drive, Dean got really fucking horny. _Again_.


	2. Reason to Doubt

Castiel traded in prayers and the pressures of leading Heaven for untouched beaches. Blue, blue waves kissed white sand. The smell of tropical flowers soothed him and a gentle breeze tickled his skin. For a time, it was just him in the world, on an undiscovered island in the Mediterranean. He pretended God had made it just for him. He knew in his heart He hadn’t.

He closed his eyes and inhaled. A moment to himself was all he needed. Serenity. Seconds without worry or obligation—

_Dear God, please help my cat, Tracy…_

He snipped the words off like a gangrene limb. Willed all prayers, all calls for help, quiet. One of his lieutenants could listen instead, he convinced himself, and help were they could. The ones they couldn't... A pang of guilt carved him out. He was being selfish. He promised himself he’d atone and clean up the broken pieces with his bare hands. 

The vibrant flowers, the clear water, white sand as far as his eyes could see—he was surrounded by so much beauty, but couldn't concentrate on any of it. His heart wandered back to Dean as it always did, whispering his name as it always had. What he wouldn’t give to have Dean beside him. The day they would spend here together played on the back of his eyelids like a movie. Dean was beautiful in the sunlight. His soft tanned skin glistened, his smile wide, green eyes sparkling and mischievous. They’d wade the blue, blue water together. They’d hunt for seashells and make love in the shade.

His fantasy died in his smile.

Dean wasn’t selfish like he was. He wouldn’t spend a day on himself. Not when there were people to save, monsters to kill, and his brother to look after. He wouldn't let the sun soak into his skin. He wouldn’t let him touch him like he used to. 

His heart sank to his stomach. He missed him. He _ached_ for him. He—

_Cas..._

Castiel jumped. One of Dean's prayers. His thread was the only line of communication he’d allowed himself while everyone else had been shut out. His heart ran ragged in his chest. He held his breath and listened.

_Can't stop thinking about you... want you to fuck me like you did in the woods…. hard... rough._

Castiel swallowed thickly. He inhaled slow and steady, trying to quiet his erratic heartbeat. He could still smell Dean all over him from their sex in the woods, threaded into his skin like stitching. The way Dean had sounded, his breathlessness, the hard press of his body against his own—his breath hitched. His heart pounded faster. Harder.

In his prayer, Dean made a little sound. It was deep, in the back of his throat. Ripe with need and sex. Castiel knew that sound. Thousands of miles away, laying spread and naked on a dirty motel bed somewhere, Dean was touching himself. Tight fingers sliding down his hard, thick shaft. Castiel half-lidded his eyes in his own arousal.

_Cas… you got your ears on? ugh… fuck… need you to make me scream..._

His cock thickened in his slacks. Couldn’t think about anything else other than Dean, alone in that room. Swiping his thumb across his sensitive head, pushing into the slit. He could smell his precome as if he were there, taste it as if he’d taken in him into his mouth. Castiel pressed a palm against his heat. In his fantasy, Dean slipped a finger into himself, one knuckle deep. 

_Cas... shit... you gotta get here before I blow... come on, I need you..._

_God, I miss you..._

His tropical paradise crumbled. Walls sprung up around him, the low lighting and musty smell of a motel room almost too familiar to him. Dean lay naked on the lumpy bed. His cock was flushed and tight in his fist, slipping between his fingers. Precome pearled at the head, his shaft strained and abused. He shouldn’t be staring. He should look away, but he couldn’t.

When he saw him, Dean arched his back with his orgasm. Thick strands of come striped his chest and dotted his face. His eyes were wild and dark, his groan like thunder shuddering across dark clouds. Dean flashed him a crooked smile and continued to stroke himself. Long and slow, knowing it drove him crazy. Tempting him. Castiel angled his chin toward the curtained windows. Dust motes danced on a ribbon of light. Shadows crept along the floors, ceiling, and walls. It'd only been an hour and a half, at most, since their last coupling yet sexual hunger radiated off him like solar winds of the sun.

"C'mere."

The bedsprings creaked and groaned, but Castiel refused to look. Out of his peripheral, Dean inched to the edge of the bed and reached out. Touched him. His face, his jawline. Dean swept a thumb across his cheekbone, then turned his face toward him. Castiel closed his eyes and balled his hands into fists. He wanted to bury himself in Dean’s skin and kiss him until his lips bruised. Make love to him in that lumpy bed, under the cheap scratchy sheets. But it’d be indecent. Wrong. This insatiable hunger for sex, his need for him—it wasn't real. What simmered inside Dean's bones wasn't Dean. It was the effect of powerful magic. Fairy magic. If Dean had his wits about him, if Dean wasn't desperate and delirious with sex, would he act the same way?

"I need you to fuck me..."

Castiel opened his eyes and looked at him. 

_No, he wouldn't._

"What's wrong with you, Dean?"

"I don't know... m'just... really fucking horny," Dean said against his lips. He leaned in and Castiel closed his eyes again. Their kiss was a soft brush of lips. His taste was of salt, his smell rich from his intimate time alone. It sent his head whirling. Dean cupped his face and tipped his head back. The way he opened his mouth for Dean—it was instinct, letting his tongue slip inside and _take_. Despite himself, Castiel moaned around him. He lost control. 

Desperately, Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean. Their lips met in a dizzying kiss, hard and savage. Then, there was a spike of pain and a coppery taste in his mouth. Dean had bit him and it fueled him, making his cock achingly hard. Castiel jerked him closer, grabbing and pinching at skin. Dean groaned and shoved his tongue in his mouth. While they kissed, Dean set his hands to work. He ripped off his trenchcoat and suit jacket, then nimbly started unbuttoning his dress shirt. Castiel grabbed handfuls of his bare ass and jerked at him again, pressing his erection into Dean’s. Fire licked at the base of his spine. _Nonono_ blared siren-loud in his head. This was wrong. This—

With a growl, Castiel pushed Dean back, away from him. Dean landed on flat on the mattress, sprawled with legs wide and cock flushed against his stomach. They stared at each other. Their chests rose and fell with lust and frustration. 

"This… _need_. It's not natural," Castiel said raggedly.

"No, shit, Sherlock," Dean growled. Angry. "And jerking off doesn't do shit, just leaves me horny as fuck all over again." Pause. "Come on, Cas. Only fucking works. I need you... I'm going crazy here."

He read _I need you_ like a slogan on his forehead. It fell from his mouth lifeless, but with just enough meaning to trick him into consuming. Needing him used to _mean_ something. They’d spent days in dirty motel rooms, lazy with their lovemaking. _Need_ was the way Dean smiled into the crook of his neck, kissing him, and letting his fingers draw circles on his stomach. Dean fell apart inside him with his need. But all of that was a year ago.

Now, need was just a salesman’s pitch. Hook, line, and sinker.

Bedsprings again. Castiel slanted his eyes away. Back on the edge of the bed, Dean’s body heat seared his skin. Fingers plucked at his shirt buttons again. Dean planted a kiss on his jawline, then on the patch of skin right under his earlobe. Castiel shuddered against him. His heart cracked his ribs from the inside. Goosebumps flared up on his skin when Dean kissed his neck, suckling small red blossoms there. 

“Need you so goddamn bad, Cas…”

Castiel closed his eyes and groaned, leaning into his affection. He kept his hands locked at his sides, fists clenching and unclenching. Dean kissed a line down his neck, over his collar bone, to his bare chest. His breath skittered over his nipple and it perked up. Dean gave him another crooked little smile, eyes twinkling mischievous, then put his mouth over it—and sucked. The sound he made was unexpected. It was loud, punching out of his throat and leaving it raw. Encouraged, Dean licked and sucked, teethed it with a gentle pinch. His mind blanked. His blood raced through his veins. His traitorous cock jerked in excitement. 

“When… was the first time… you felt this… urge?” Castiel asked conversationally, trying to ignore Dean’s fingers, where they were, what they were doing. Dean pulled another groan out of him before covering his mouth, to shut him up. They kissed, their lips slow and lazy, while Dean fumbled with his belt. His slacks and underwear fell to his ankles under Dean’s ministrations. Stale air against his skin reminded him how far gone he truly was.

Castiel leaned back, breaking the kiss. Dean hovered like a moth to a light, lost as if his world had suddenly gone dark. “Dean…”

His green eyes were glossy. Something dark passed over them. Then, he dropped them down. Dean took one look at his swollen shaft and licked his lips. He was hungry like a lion hunting a gazelle. Ravenous. Dean dipped out of sight and touch before he could stop him. The first touch sent his hips forward. He tried not to enjoy the way Dean was handling him, how firm he was gripping him, how tight and soft his fingers were. A hot puff of his breath foretold the inevitable. He should stop him before it was too late. This wasn’t Dean. Here was the point of no return—and he crashed through it with abandon. When Dean took him wholly into his mouth, he hoped this magic, this _affliction_ , would never go away.

Eager didn’t fully describe how… enthusiastic Dean was. He pushed down to the root too quickly and gagged. Paused to regain his composure, then went right back sucking. His tight lips slipped up and down his length, creating a vacuum of hot and wet. Castiel couldn’t help but stare, watching his cock disappear into Dean’s mouth. In and out, in and out. The head of him spun a line of precome when Dean pulled off. With his glinting, mischievous eyes, Dean looked up at him and licked him with the flat of his tongue. With everything he had, Castiel tried to keep his reaction minimal. He strangled a groan in his chest, steeled his jaw to the point of breaking teeth. Challenge sparked in Dean’s eyes. He smiled. Castiel knew it was the end of resistance.

Dean gripped the base of his cock, then slipped his mouth over him again. What proceeded was a series of short, shallow sucks at his head. Castiel followed an involuntary instinct and bucked his hips, sliding in deeper. Dean gagged again and it thrilled him. Unfazed, Dean pulled back and tongued his slit. Castiel cried out. Dean smiled around him, in triumph. As if he were rewarding him, Dean swallowed him down, bobbing his head with long, deep strokes of his mouth. Castiel thrust his hips forward a second time, unable to help himself. Dean took it in stride. Took it as encouragement. Took it as Castiel wanting _more_. 

There was a hungry possessiveness when Dean grabbed his hips, yanking him in. Dean let him desecrate his mouth like this, pulling and pushing, mimicking the rhythm of deep, even thrusts. Telling Castiel what he himself needed. The pleasure Dean was allowing—it cut reason like an electrical wire. Castiel let his fingers slide to the back of Dean’s neck, rubbing his thumb in small affectionate circles. Then, he gripped what he could of Dean's hair and held him still. Once, twice, three times, Castiel snapped his hips forward, plunging deep and hard into his mouth. Dean choked. For once, he didn’t’ care. 

Out of his mind, drugged on magic and sex, Dean recovered and took his greed, sucked harder and groaned through the abuse. Castiel looked down to indulge in the sight of him, taking the full length of his cock inside him. Drool spilled from the corners of his mouth. Precome lined his lips. What he saw should’ve thrilled him, but it didn’t. This wasn’t his Dean. Just a mindless animal bent on satisfying an instinctual need.

Guilt spread through him like a disease.

Castiel stopped and pulled back on Dean's hair. Pain tightened Dean’s face. Empty without him, Dean whimpered and stared up at him like a scolded dog. His mouth hung open, like he was ready for more, and precome coated his tongue. Castiel ignored his sad eyes.

"Think, Dean. When did you first feel the urge?"

Dean reached out and grabbed him. Wet with saliva, his cock slipped easily in Dean’s warm fist. His strokes were firm, unrelenting. Distracting. Castiel gave in and let himself drown in his touch—then, pushed Dean to flop back onto the mattress. 

"No," Castiel said. "Not until you answer me."

The look on Dean’s face... It reminded him of a very different Dean five years ago. The same afraid, lost look Dean had when he’d found him in Hell. Castiel took a step forward. There was this… desperate immediacy to save him, comfort him. Protect him from the world and shelter him in his love. Castiel took a breath. He stood still, pretending to be brave and strong. He clenched his fists. If he had to save Dean from anything, it was this.

“Dean, please,” Castiel whispered. “Think.”

Dean went quiet. His eyes dropped to the bedspread, then lower, down to his cock. It was a blushing shade of soft violet between his legs, wet and proud. His hand gravitated to it as if Dean, under some sort of spell, couldn't help it. He wrapped his fingers around its girth and tugged a few times. When Castiel thought he'd lost Dean to himself, Dean looked up and said, "The shop."

Relief.

"The shop... good, Dean." Praise as if he were talking to a dog. "What shop?"

"An hour up the road—"

And that was all he could squeeze out of him. Like a charging bull, Dean lunged for him again, balls bouncing with the Herculean effort. Castiel grunted with the impact. He tossed him away again like a ragdoll and again, Dean flopped back, defeated.

"Dammit, Dean. I said no," Castiel growled. "What happened at the shop?"

Dean didn’t hear him and if he had, he didn't show it. As if he were the main attraction at a peep show, Dean flipped over on the bed, ass up, and spread his legs. His balls were tight against his body, his hole open and ready for him. Peering over his arm, Dean smiled like he knew a secret and pushed his cock down, away from his body, so it would point at the bed, just so Castiel could see it. 

Castiel tore his eyes away. He concentrated on sounds of cars speeding down the highway. The A/C sputtering and choking to life. Outside, a truck door slammed. There were voices and someone passed in front of their window. 

"Cas...," Dean whined. "Fuck me. _Please_..."

Castiel heaved a breath and it sounded like a steel ball rolling inside a metal cage. Exhaustion wore him thin. The effort of resisting… had fried his brain. A tight, controlled groan clued him in that Dean had begun touching himself again. Growling, Castiel grabbed the sheet and covered him. "Tell me what happened in the shop, Dean."

"I need your dick inside me, Cas... your thick, hot—"

Castiel was on him before he knew it, flattening him against the mattress with his weight. He shoved his hips into him as a warning, a punishment, and Dean gasped. He moaned into his pillow, biting a corner like a wild, starved animal. Dean panted as if he were on the verge of breaking. He rolled his hips, up and down, fitting the hard line of his cock between his cheeks. There wasn't a single word in any human language that could define how it felt to have Dean like this, needing him and only him as if he were his air, his sustenance, his every breath. Castiel let out a shuddering groan. He needed Dean as much as Dean needed him—except his need was real. He didn't need magic to feel as if he were dying without him.

"The shop, Dean," Castiel whispered in his ear. "Tell me what happened and I'll give you anything you want."

His promise sent Dean on a frenzy. Dean arched up and pressed into him, making the space between them nonexistent. His heat burned him and the smell of his sweat was both heady and intoxicating. Drugged himself, high on everything _Dean_ , Castiel searched for him under the sheet. He grazed his ribs with fingertips, then reached around and pressed a gentle hand to his chest. With each circle he drew into his skin, Dean relaxed. Castiel rewarded him with a kiss on the back of his neck.

"Sam... was questioning this guy..." Dean mumbled, almost incoherent. "There was... a bottle."

"What did it look like?"

"Had gold on it... blue, green, purple... looked like a—a tiny perfume bottle. Gold glitter..." Dean sucked in a breath. "Gold glitter came out of it."

Castiel held him tight and Dean rolled his head back, sighing as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. 

"Call Sam. Have him go back to the shop and find the bottle... see if there's a cure."

"When?"

"Later."

He grabbed Dean's shoulder and turned him over, covering him full length with his body. His green eyes were wild. _No_ was written on his face, in the strain and tremble of his muscles. Castiel narrowed his eyes in confusion. 

"Turn me over," Dean growled.

"No."

When Dean tried to push him off, Castiel grabbed his wrists and locked them over his head, pinning them down. Dean couldn't move. He opened his mouth to say something. Castiel shut him up with the roll of his hips. 

Soon, Dean was a slave to their friction, to the wet slide of their cocks, to the electricity that arced up and through them. Castiel bit back a noise and dropped his head to Dean's collar bone, peppering kisses there and up his neck. A groan rumbled under his lips and he kissed it, too, sucking at the fluttering pulse point. This grinding, the heat they were making with their bodies—it wouldn't satisfy Dean like it should have. Wouldn't make the magic dormant. Dean knew that—Castiel knew that—and Dean made a move for the only thing that could make him whole. 

Dean mumbled something and it sounded like _please_. He spread his legs. When Dean angled his hips up, inviting, promising, Castiel shifted into position. He grabbed his cock and rubbed his head over Dean's hole, nudging it open. Dean's eyes bulged, his back arching as if he'd been electrocuted. He whispered _yesyesyes_ to no one, and closed his eyes. Without hesitating, without being gentle, Castiel thrust inside with a single jerk of his hips.

Dean screamed.

Maybe it was from pain. Maybe ecstasy. He didn't know. He had lost himself in Dean's skin, the iron-vice clamp around his cock. Castiel stilled even though everything in his body told him to _thrust_. He'd let Dean adjust. It was the least he could do. Dean didn't want that. He wanted hard and _now_ , and told him by pushing himself down on his cock. It shocked him. He couldn't hold back his groan. Dean wiggled his hips and it drove him crazy. 

Castiel shifted back to his folded knees, then dragged Dean with him. The absence of his cock made Dean whimper and the sound was offensive because Dean Winchester certainly did not whimper. He was a bang, the high-powered explosive that had completely leveled him. The tornado that had torn him apart without so much as a warning. This wasn't Dean, his Dean, but a man stripped down to basic instincts—and he _hated_ it. The man he loved—the man he prayed loved him back—wasn't here. This wasn't real. It wasn't—

Dean groaned at him and whispered fingertips across his knees. If he had the strength of will to resist Dean at all, he didn't show it. He grabbed Dean's hips and pulled him close. There was no difference between right and wrong. Not when he speared Dean with his cock. He drowned himself in Dean's groan, his skin, in his smell. Castiel was a man with needs. Not an angel. A full-blooded, hungry beast with a taste for lust.

He drew his hips back and snapped them forward, driving deep and deeper. Drilled him as fast and hard as he could, wanting this over while wanting this to last forever. There'd be no lovemaking here. Just like in the woods, it'd be hard and impersonal. The way Dean needed it. The way he himself hated it. 

The bed's headboard slammed into the wall with every thrust. Dean cried out each time Castiel jerked into his body. Between groans and whimpers, his name, incoherent words, Dean tried to kiss him. He angled his face away. Dean's body clamped around him, but he refused to enjoy it. He'd torture himself with Dean's heat, but he wouldn't love it. He’d listen to Dean's cries, the way he whispered his name, but wouldn't cherish it. Wouldn't because this wasn't real. None of it. This wasn't his Dean.

This was dirty. Wrong.

But he sinned anyway.

When Castiel opened his eyes, when he dared to look, Dean's mouth was open in an 'o' of pure bliss—beautiful. There was no horror in his green eyes, no shame, only awe. It stole his breath away. In that moment, Castiel fell in love with him all over again. The world would age around them, fall into ruin, and he'd still love Dean Winchester. 

If he had to, he'd wait an eternity for Dean to love him back.

"Cas... I'm going to— _fuck_."

Castiel railed him hard and Dean came undone. Ribbons of come shot out of him, coating the tight space between them. It was hot, smelled sweet like him, and slipped over their skin. Castiel leaned forward and stole a kiss, the only thing he'd allow for himself, and pulled out of him. Dean lay there dazed and satisfied, his chest rising and falling erratic and labored. Castiel shifted to the edge of the bed, his cock stiff and hung between his legs. Just like in the woods, he didn't take pleasure from their coupling. As if doing so was a line he wouldn't across. As if it somehow mattered, or made this any better, or any less... wrong.

It was time to go. 

Dean grabbed his arm as if he knew. "Stay with me, Cas."

Castiel looked over his shoulder. Staring back at him, smiling, was just Dean. His Dean. The magic had fallen dormant. There was something in Dean's eyes that he hadn't seen in a long time. Was it love?

For the first time in a year, Castiel had hope.


	3. We'll Fix It

Dean woke up to the pounding of his heart. Warmth pooled at the base of his spine. Every hair on his body stood on-end—he was right in the middle of one of those _fuck everything or die_ urges. So fucking turned on he could barely breathe. He needed him again and his whole body ached with it.

Blindly, he reached out to touch. His fingertips skirted along Cas’ arm, skin warm and soft. Dean let out a sigh of relief. Cas had _stayed_. He was here, beside him on the bed, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling under the sheets. Late-afternoon sunlight poured in from the half-curtained windows, and Dean followed the line of light with his eyes, tracing his nose, his lips, and the strong jut of his chin. He wanted to kiss every inch of him, touch every sun-lit piece—his face, his collarbone, _everything_ —just like he used to. 

_Like he used to._

The realization came with a pang of regret. Things had changed between them, hadn't been the same since—

The phone rang. 

Dean startled, then flung his arm over, fumbling for his phone. Sam.

"Yeah," he mumbled into the mouthpiece. "You find that bottle—uh huh." Pause. "No shit." Dean pinched his nose between his fingers. "Fucking fairies... yeah... No." Dean looked over. Cas was still asleep. "He's here... Yeah, he's fine." Dean pulled a thread from the bedspread. "Sure. Just… stick close, all right? Sit in your room, have a pizza or something. Probably won't last much longer."

Dean ended the call with his thumb and tossed the phone on the nightstand. It clattered hollow which was about how he felt right now. Like his insides had been carved out with a machete. Exhausted, too. Horny as fuck. 

He rubbed a hand down his face. With a hard exhale, he stole a glance at Cas. Eyes wide open, Cas stared at the ceiling. He'd probably been awake the whole time.

"Sam went to that shop like I asked," Dean said. "Said I snorted some sort of... fairy dust and not much of it, so…" No reaction. "There’s no cure or antidote, or whatever, and probably won’t last more than like, two hours, at the most. Guess we’ll just have to fuck it out,” Dean said, tone hopeful. 

Cas continued to stare at the ceiling. A muscle in Cas' jaw tightened, the only indication he was listening at all. 

"Hey, you hear me?" Dean narrowed his eyes when Cas didn’t respond. "What's your deal? Thought you'd be happy." _I sure as fuck am._

Again, Cas didn't say a word. He just turned his head away to face the window. Cas _always_ looked at him. In fact, it was weird when he didn’t. _Not_ looking at him usually meant he was pissed or feeling... _guilty_ because he’d done something wrong. "Cas—hey, where the hell do you think you're going?"

Dean grabbed his shoulder before Cas could get off the bed. He soaked in the warmth of his bare skin through his fingertips and the contact made his head swim with a shot of adrenaline. If he wasn't horny before— _fucking hell_. It coiled in his chest like a spring, fire-hot and ready to bust through his rib cage. He took in a lungful of air, slow and steady, and let it out just as gradually. _Get it together, Winchester. Concentrate._

"Look at me,” Dean said. Cas didn’t. Suspicion confirmed. He was hiding something. What could it— “Wait. Did you…“ Dean stared at the back of his head. “You… _knew_ about this fairy shit, didn't you?"

Cas looked at the hand on his shoulder.

"Answer me, Cas."

"Yes," Cas said quietly. “I knew.”

"And when the fuck were you going to tell me, huh?"

"I wasn't," Cas said. "I was going to... wait until it faded."

"Why?"

"Because... you would've asked me to—"

"Get rid of it? Yeah, you bet your fucking ass I'd ask you to get rid of it. Should’ve fucking done it the second you knew," Dean growled. Cas sat there, unmoving. Not helping him. " _Cas_ —"

"I can't."

"Can't or fucking won't?"

"Won't," Cas said heavily. "Intervening with fairy magic—it would… make them angry."

"So?"

"'So?'" Cas echoed. "You know very well what they're capable of. I can't just— _wave away_ years of continuous bad luck, which is what you and I will both get if I in any way—"

"My whole life has been _years_ of continuous bad luck, _Cas_. What difference does it make?"

"This would be _worse_."

"I don't give a shit," Dean snapped. "Listen. Here's what you're going to do. You're going to angel-mojo this shit, and you're going to do it right-the-fuck now, you hear me?

"No," Cas growled.

"No?" Dean balked. "I swear to fucking God, Cas..."

"Dean, I said no!"

An incredible _need_ to be spread open and fucked hit him like a punch to the jaw. The way Cas had said those words—commanding, his voice deep and dark—left him achingly hard. He fought to put back the air in his lungs. Unable to help himself, he pressed the heel of his hand down on his dick. 

Cas looked over his shoulder as if he had noticed.

He turned his back on Cas' frown, gathered his self-control, and reached for his underwear. In silence, frowning himself, Dean forced his legs into his jeans, shrugged on his shirt, and jammed his boots onto his feet. As soon as he stood up and put his jacket on—

"Where are you going?"

"Out to get laid," Dean said matter-of-factly.

"I'm _right here_."

Lightning and thunder could've crashed and rolled with the way he said it. A shudder ran down his spine. Something sparked in his veins, but he ignored it. His body wanted to stay. What was left of his brain wanted to go. He wobbled on his feet in the middle, and caught his balance against the wall.

"Nah, I'm done with you." He swallowed thickly. “ _We’re_ done.”

“We’ve _been_ done.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean said, angry. “Maybe it should stay that way.”

Dean stumbled-reached for the door—and got a face full of righteous angel instead. Cas curled his fists in his jacket and slammed him against the wall. “No,” was all Cas said, heavy, demanding. Dean lost his breath. His dick strained against the zipper of his jeans. Cas, Cas, Cas was suddenly all he could think about. He was dizzy with it. Hard and needy. 

Dean closed his eyes. His heart thumped in his ears. His hands... they'd jump out and touch him if he didn't do something about it. He twisted them behind his back and put all his weight on them. At some point, their hips brushed and he nearly fell to the floor. Cas must have noticed the change in his body language. A heavy, hot puff of breath skittered over his face, like Cas wanted to touch him but couldn't. 

"Talk to me," Cas whispered. Dean clenched his jaw. "This isn’t about the fairy magic, is it?"

He didn’t give a fuck about the fairy magic, or the fact that Cas had kept the truth from him. It was everything else. They weren’t okay. Nothing was okay.

Dean opened his eyes to find Cas searching his face, digging, sorting his lies from truths. Probably trying to figure out what the fuck went wrong with them and when. Hell, even he didn’t know. When Cas licked his lips, he almost fell over from needing him. Needing Cas' hands all over him. Touching him, kissing him, telling him they’d eventually fix whatever it was that needed fixing. 

Cas narrowed his eyes as if he’d heard his doubts and fears. “Is this… about my leaving you for Heaven?”

Dean recoiled, bumping his head against the wall. Was it? Partly, maybe. Typical Cas had read him like a book, as if the words had been printed on his face. But that, him _leaving_ , wasn’t everything.

"I told you that my obligation was temporary, that I'd find someone to take over as soon as I could."

"Yeah? And how long is that going to take? Months? Years?" He clenched his teeth. "I can't do that, Cas. Can't have you coming in and out of my life like that, like Dad and everyone else I fucking cared about. It's not going to work and you know that."

Cas frowned. "What are you saying?"

_Stay with me. Fuck Heaven._

"Stay gone, that's what I'm saying."

Cas rocked back on his feet, drunk with shock, hurt, and anger—and it was that last emotion he saw twisting Cas' face before the angel slammed him into the wall a second time. "No,” Cas said again, defiantly. “I refuse to believe you mean that, Dean. Not after _everything_.” Cas studied him intently. Dean tensed under his scrutiny. “There’s something else. Something you’re not telling me.” A breath. “What’s wrong, Dean?”

He wanted to go for that door again, slip outside into the cool air. Escape. The thought alone made him cringe. To step away from Cas' warm, naked body... it would fucking hurt and he knew it. But the truth? That’d hurt even more—hell, he’d take the chance.

Dean tried to get away from him, but Cas wouldn’t budge. Cas gripped his shoulders tighter, pressed him harder into that goddamn wall. It turned him on like nobody’s fucking business, and he bit down a noise that bubbled up in the back of his throat. His proximity, his heat—it drove him _crazy_.

Dean held his breath. It didn’t help.

“Dean…”

_Just fucking say it._

“Look, man. I'm going to end up hurting you again. This time, maybe permanent. Maybe not. I can't have what I did hanging over my head every time I look at you.”

“I forgave you—“

“I killed you, Cas!” Dean growled. “I couldn't control that... fucking Mark and I—I can't... fucking hurt you again. I just... _can't_."

“And so, you'll just... attempt to drive me away. Run. After all we've been through.”

“Yeah, I learned how to run from the best.”

Cas frowned at the dig, saying _fuck you_ every which way with his eyes and the tight line in his jaw. Fingers bit into his shoulder again and it hurt, but he didn’t care. Behind his back, Dean wrestled with his hands, twisting his fingers. Trying everything to _not touch him_. He swallowed hard and Cas stood there, watching him fight between _go_ and _fuck me, ruin me_. His face crumpled, then; his thinking frown, deep and intense as if he were contemplating the world and all of its broken, useless pieces. Deciding, maybe. Hardening again with resolution.

"Be assured, Dean, that Heaven nor Hell will keep me from you—and despite all of your mistakes, all your attempts to push me away, neither will _you_.” Cas clenched his jaw. “I don’t care if you’re dangerous. I don’t care if you can’t forgive yourself for what you did. I’m staying. I will _always stay_ and you’ll _live with it_.”

His body heat was unbearable, seductive, drawing him in. He wanted to stay angry, cling to any ridiculous reason he could. Cutting everything off, ending it completely would be a lot easier, simpler, than dealing with _any of it_. The guilt of killing him, missing him, needing him when he wasn't there—he wouldn't be able to take it. He wouldn't be able handle not having Cas in his life at all, either.

"Whatever is between us... we'll fix it," Cas whispered.

He untwisted his arms from behind his back. He didn't want to fight anymore. 

Without thinking, Dean grabbed Cas by the back of the neck and pulled him in. Their bodies met with impact and Dean kissed him so hard, so urgently, that it fucking hurt. For a minute, they fought against each other. For an eternity, they kissed until they were both short of breath. 

Cas cupped his face and pushed his tongue into his mouth. Willingly, Dean opened up to him, hands searching his naked skin and grabbing where he could. He was breathless. His heart tried to claw out of his throat. Delirious, Dean moaned when Cas took hold of him, turned, and half-pushed him toward the bed. He scrambled up to his knees and Cas climbed after him. It wasn't gentle, the way Cas handled him, grabbing his hips, fingers pinching his skin. He didn't mind. Pain was promise.

His jeans and underwear didn't get halfway to his thighs before Cas claimed him again, pushing in with a single thrust. His insides stretched. His head whirled, eyes blurry. He felt as if he might explode—and every hungry jerk of Cas' hips just added to how fucking good he felt. He was groaning and crying out with every one, needing the next just as badly. Their thighs slapped together. Sweat beaded on their skin. Rough and greedy, Cas pushed his head down into the mattress and pounded his ass until he called out his name. Somewhere deep inside, he lost control. He came quicker and harder than he ever had. It disoriented him and left him boneless. Satisfied.

Cas rolled off him and spread himself out on the mattress. Sunlight pooled in places he wanted to touch and kiss all over again; warm places he'd spend forever in if he had the choice. The time. If everything hadn't happened the way it happened. Dean lay there, reluctant, half-propped up on an elbow. Cas looked at him.

_Whatever is between us... we'll fix it._

Could they?

Dean didn’t know and didn’t want to think about it. He poured himself into the space beside Cas, stretching an arm over his chest. He thumbed the meaty part of his shoulder. He reveled in the softness of his skin. He’d cherish this moment for whatever it was worth.

Cas reached up and squeezed his hand. There was nothing but love in his touch.


	4. Heaven Can Wait

Castiel watched over him as he slept. There were no nightmares, no urges. Just hours and hours of uninterrupted sleep—something Dean deserved ten times over. Sometimes Dean would stir, smile in his sleep, then let out a sigh that sounded happy. For once, Dean was at peace. 

More importantly, Dean was Dean— _his Dean._

The fairy magic had worn off hours ago, and it filled him with both relief and sadness. Everything would fall into place again, like it had been. They'd avoid each other, allow their past grievances to eat away at their bond, corrode their foundation, and break them apart. Heaven nor Hell would keep them from each other, but they themselves might—and _that_ scared him the most.

Carefully, slowly, Castiel moved a little closer to him. He brushed his fingertips across his cheek, thumbing a brushstroke of freckles. Missing him. Dean squinted and frowned in his sleep, then nuzzled his pillow. When Castiel ran his fingers through his hair, Dean made a soft noise and gravitated toward him. Dean snuggled in close, as he often had, and draped a lazy arm over him. This was a moment he wanted to last forever. It wouldn't. He’d leave before Dean woke up. It was the decent thing to do. The inevitable tension and unanswerable questions. The awkward _good bye_ 's and regrets... 

He kissed his forehead and moved Dean's arm gently, then peeled back the sheets. He wouldn't even notice he'd gone—except he did. Dean grabbed ahold of his arm and looked up at him with sleepy eyes. Dean licked his lips. Smiled—and it warmed his heart more than the sun ever could. "You leaving me already?"

Castiel settled back on the bed, on his side, facing Dean. He gathered up Dean's hand and kissed the knuckles. Dean smiled again. They stared at each other for what seemed like hours. Breathing the same air. Sparing soft, little touches over warm skin. Appreciating a rare, quiet moment together.

"I think that fairy magic shit is fading," Dean said, rubbing a thumb over his hand. "You interested in one last hurrah before it's gone?"

The magic had faded six hours ago.

Castiel opened his mouth. Dean took it as a _yes_ and kissed him, slow and lazy, as if they had all the time in the world. His kiss said _we'll fix this_ with its passion. It said _I love you_ with its tenderness. For the first time in the last year, he knew they'd overcome this, all of it, Heaven and Hell be damned. Themselves, too.

He melted into the kiss and returned it with vigor, making Dean groan. His cock thickened between his legs. In the dying light, they rubbed against each other and whispered sweet nothings. Promises. Things that healed a year’s worth of pain and regret.

Dean rolled on top of him and nestled between his thighs. Instinct drove Castiel to spread his own legs, wanting nothing more than to surrender to how it'd always been. As Dean shifted and straddled his hips, he saw a glimpse of how it'd _be_ : a future of equal giving and taking. Dean rolled his hips back, nudging the head of his hard cock, and Castiel gasped with it. Dean was Dean—his Dean—and he was willing.

"Come on, Cas. Fuck me real good— _fuck_."

A little spit and precome was all it took. Castiel slipped in. Sore from their sex, not as relaxed as he had been under the fairy magic, Dean tensed up and Castiel went slow with him. He rocked his hips up gently, carefully, and slid his hands over his body, down his chest, over his sides, exploring him. Loving him. Dean grabbed ahold of the bed's headboard and rolled his hips back and down on his cock over and over. He was beautiful like this, himself, lording above him like a god he intended to worship for the rest of his existence. 

When Dean let himself go, he did too, coming hard and without guilt. In the brilliant colors of sunset, they lay beside each other, fingers entwined, and waited until the world saw fit to disturb them.

Dean loved him, there was no doubt, and in the end, they’d fix it.

:::

The next morning Castiel watched them from the motel room door. Sam and Dean threw their duffel bags in the Impala's trunk, chatting among themselves. Off to another case, he assumed. Everything was as it should be. 

Sam came up to him and nodded. "Hey, Cas."

"Sam," Castiel greeted.

Sam held something up, then put it in his open palm. "Just in case."

Blue, green, and purple pastels. Gold edges and hand-painted flowers—the bottle. He could feel the fairy magic thrum under his touch. When he looked up, Sam grinned at him and winked. Castiel frowned in his confusion.

"Look, I know about you and Dean. Have for a long time." Sam looked over his shoulder at Dean. "And I know how much of an asshole he can be, so." Sam pointed at the bottle. "Have fun with that."

"Then..." Castiel said, frowning. He looked down at the bottle, then up at Sam. "I have your blessing?"

"You had it the second you dragged my brother out of Hell, Cas."

Sam patted his shoulder, headed toward the Impala, and climbed in. Leaving him and Dean mostly alone in the parking lot together. Dean leaned against his car, arm across its hood, and gave him a nod. "We got a case up in Poughkeepsie. You in?"

Castiel took in a breath of fresh air and looked up at the sky. The sun was warm on his face. The breeze was gentle. It was going to be a good day.

"Yes," Castiel said. "I'm in."

Heaven could wait.


End file.
